


Burn Out

by romanrogers



Series: Argonaut [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Game of Thrones AU, M/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:06:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanrogers/pseuds/romanrogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment Matt heard of Vladimir Ranskahov, he got a sour taste in his mouth. Matt hated men like Vladimir. Hell, he and Stick were supposed to wage war against men like him- murderers and thieves. Matt had a list of things that he would rather do than become the Khal’s consort and one of them was to kill the Khal himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Out

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so in case it isn’t clear, Fisk is supposed to represent the Lannisters/Baratheons, who lead an uprising against house Targaryen (Murdock in this case) and massacred his whole family and blinded him as a child. Soon before their castle was attacked, Matt’s father sent Matt and his father’s right hand, Stick- who abhors Matt, to the Southern Isles across the Black Sea. Matt grows up in a psychologically and physically abusive household that pounds into his head that he will someday reclaim his throne and be the cause behind an upcoming war. Matt does not know anything else besides a longing to be home, which he never really had. The Ranskahov's are the leaders of the Russians (The Dothraki), which are a group of horse-lords who travel the lands and are trained from birth to massacre and take hostage anyone who stands in their way. Stick arranges a marriage between the Khal (Vladimir) and his charge, Matt, so attain an army to hopefully take overseas to kickstart a war to give Matt the throne. Or the AU where Matt Murdock is Daenerys Targaryen and Vladimir Ranskahov is Khal Drogo.

 

Matt breathes in shallowly through his nose as his hands grip the shaggy animal hides below him tightly. Heated kisses were littered along the elegant curve of his neck, to the sharp line of his jaw as Vladimir’s stubble scratches against Matt’s competitively.

 

Matt turns his head to the side facing away from Vladimir and brings a shaky fist up to his mouth and worries his knuckle in between his teeth in a feeble attempt to gain some composure but Vladimir’s hand comes up to pull his hand away.

 

His calloused and scarred fingers brush against the soft skin of Matt’s injured flesh, “No,” he commands seriously.

 

Matt’s body quivers slightly underneath the larger man and scrambles for a way to prolong the inevitability of what is soon to happen.

 

“Do you speak my native tongue?” He asks thickly.

 

“No.”

 

Matt exhales fast in what could have been a laugh in a different situation, “I- is ‘no’ the only word you know?”

 

Vladimir lets Matt’s hand fall to the pelts that surrounded the two, “No.”

 

His breath fanned across the expanse of Matt’s face and he stared up sightlessly at where he assumed Vladimir to be, his Adam’s apple bobbing signaling just how nervous he actually was. Vladimir’s thumb stroked just underneath Matt’s eye and moving to gingerly ghost his fingertips along his eyelids, muttering something in his mother tongue, which sounded something akin to the gargling of a thick wine brew. Matt cowered away ever so slightly from the touch and breathed in again deeply, having the distinct feeling that all of the air has been sucked from the room.

 

Their lips brush and it is nothing special. There are no fireworks or epiphany like in the novels his old nurse maids used to read, all there is was just the hot sliding of their bodies and the unspoken intent of their actions. Matt brings his hands to wrap them around Vladimir’s broad shoulders and pulls him down slightly closer to deepen the kiss.

 

Vladimir grips the side of Matt’s head with one hand while his other trails down to his thigh, stroking lightly before lifting it up to signal Matt to raise both his legs the rest of the way. His calves lay on the small of Vladimir’s back and the crooks of his feet loop together to keep their position.

 

Matt continues to breath in calmly as Vladimir settles in his spot on top of him in between his legs, Vladimir’s other hand sliding back up near Matt’s head as he releases his grip on his head and supports himself on his elbows just above Matt’s shoulders.

-

 

The Russians have rules when they travel through esteemed villages- conquer, take what they want, and leave, but for the ones that were too valuable and worth passing through again, they just took. Eastman’s village just happened to be one of the second variety.

 

Vladimir and Matt traveled in front of their people as a subtle display of their dominance and Vladimir was sure to keep an arm securely wrapped around Matt’s waist to keep him from getting lost in the crowd. Every now and again Vladimir uttered gargled words of directory that Stick translated as they walked along the cobblestone streets.

 

The Russians took the food and drink they desired and left no room for argument, if someone spoke up then they lost only their arm if they were lucky. Disgust pooled in Matt’s chest and began consuming his every thought. He felt dirty, impure, like no matter how long and hard he scrubbed his skin, it would never be truly cleansed. Matt’s conscience felt guilty, he knew this was wrong and hated that he could do nothing but go along with it.

 

Stick loomed next to his shoulder like a foreboding omen, constantly reminding Matt of his presence even though he can’t see. It almost felt as though he was purposefully mocking him and his inability to do what he knew was right.

 

Vladimir stopped walking when a man began to call out from a small distance ahead. He relinquished his hold on his waist to transfer it to his bicep, pulling him along like a rag doll.

 

He shoved a glass into his hand and some of the liquid spilled over the side and dribbled down his fingers seductively. He transferred the glass to his other hand and bent his head to lick the remaining drink off his hand when he caught a familiar tarty whiff of it.

 

He dropped the glass and heard it shatter on the ground as he hastily slapped the glass out of the hand he assumed Vladimir was holding it, only to narrowly miss until he swatted again and hit his target.

 

Vladimir grabbed the collar of Matt’s shirt dragging him up enough by his collar to slightly strain his airway, “P- poison!” He explained hastily.

 

Stick quickly threw himself in between the two and translated calmly. Matt rubbed at his throat absentmindedly and kept his head down in slight embarrassment. He scratched the back of his neck and scuffed his feet warily not sure of what was to happen next just before hot liquid splattered wetly across his face.

 

He wiped it off as best as he could with the inside of his wrist, knowing it was blood. A rough calloused hand pulled his wrist gently away from his face, bringing Matt back to himself.

 

A warm, wet appendage began to lap at his face, clearing away the bloodied mess. It just passed over his lips when he realized with a sickening swallow that it was a tongue. He squinted his eyes shut willing the bile steadily rising in his throat to go back down.

 

-

 

Matt grinds his teeth hissing out venomously, “I am no one’s plaything, I do not want to be his consort,” more lightly he continues, “I just want to go home.”

 

Stick whips around at Matt’s show of defiance, “Well how do you plan on gettin’ home Matty, please enlighten me, hmmm?”

 

Matt tilts his chin up, “We can find another way, I’m sure loyalists reside somewhere in these isles they could-“ He was cut off by a sharp backhanded slap.

 

The sound rang out from throughout their tent and Matt licked his lip experimentally, wincing at the sting and the dull, metallic taste of blood. He shakes his head slightly to clear away the foggy, disoriented thoughts that came with the slight numbness that he felt in his chest. Stick grabbed Matt’s jaw roughly and turned his face back towards him.

 

“There’s a war coming, kid, and you know what we need for a war,” he spat. Not waiting for an answer, he continued on, “An army, dear boy, Vladimir Ranskahov’s army.”

 

He gripped Matt’s face even harder to accentuate his point.

 

Matt felt the familiar burn of emotion behind his eyes that he quickly blinked back down. Matt just opened his mouth to reply when Stick’s grasp was abruptly removed with a dramatic whoosh of air.

 

Vladimir’s familiar baritone growl filled the tent, spitting foreign obscenities to Stick as the sound of a strangled animal began to assault Matt’s ears.

 

“Vladimir-“ Matt uttered cautiously, reaching forward blindly.

 

He felt the naked, scarred flesh of Vladimir’s back and moved his hand up to touch his shoulder, urging him to turn around.

 

“Let him go please,” Matt knew that Vladimir could seldom understand him but he could at least try to get his message across.

 

The toned muscles of Vladimir’s neck and shoulder flexed as he turned his head slightly to face him, the guttural sounds of Stick choking still played in the background as a filler between the two as Matt looked up and shook his head frantically to signal his disapproval. Vladimir made an audible sneer and Stick’s loud gasps were like bells to Matt’s ears.

 

Matt smiled warily and shifted on his feet awkwardly a second before Vladimir wrapped his strong hand around his bicep and pulled him away.

 

-

 

_“Matvey.”_

 

Matt furrowed his brow and panted heavily as a trickle of sweat ran from his temple to his cheek. He lifts himself off of Vladimir and lies down on his back tiredly.

 

Vladimir’s hand comes to swipe at another stray drop of sweat that begins to run down his forehead. He turns his head slightly towards the other man in acknowledgement.

 

An arm wraps around Matt’s middle and a face is stuffed into the curve of his neck, “ _My darling devil, so pretty for me-”_

 

Matt doesn’t know what he’s saying but a small part of him is intrigued and the larger part of him is curious. He sighs and turns the rest of the way around so he is lying on his side but caries Vladimir’s arm along with him so it is still draped over his side where he lies.

 

When he wakes up, Vladimir is still there lying with him and places sloppy, sweet kisses on his shoulder blades and Matt calmly smothers the goofy grin that threatens to break across his face.

 

-

 

Matt grudgingly admits to himself that he enjoys the surly man’s company. His half smiles that he traces with his fingers, the scar that lies along his eye socket, the rough indentions of scars that are scattered across his body like warped constellations, and his tattoo addled appendages that touch him so gently. It is almost disorienting to be touched so gently by someone who holds such brutal, unbridled _power_ underneath that touch. He likes him, nothing more, he tells himself.

 

-

 

Matt takes another bloody bite of the warm heart in his hands, breathing in deeply and staring out with what he hopes looks like a defiant glare. He chews the tacky meat of it in his mouth swishing the acquired metallic taste of blood all throughout his mouth before he swallows again.

 

He can feel the eyes of the Russian clan devour him as he devours the heart in his hands. As he takes his last few bites, thick, sticky, blood flows in between the cracks of his fingers which he licks away experimentally before continuing.

 

When the last glimpse of the heart vanishes an awed murmuring of voices takes over the tent. Vladimir picks Matt up and twirls him around in his arms. For the first time, Matt thinks he can actually hear the smile in his voice as his wild chants begin to translate in Matt’s mind.

 

“ _Daredevil! My lovely heart-eater!”_

Matt smiles sheepishly, no doubt with bloody teeth gleaming garishly in the candlelight. Daredevil, he thinks, I like that.

 

The rest of the Russian clan chants along with Vladimir, _“Daredevil! Daredevil! Daredevil!”_

 

Vladimir lays Matt down across his lap as he sits atop his thrown and strokes Matt’s cheek in pride. Matt in return gives him a shy tongue-in-cheek smile, feeling a cautious swell of affection begin to spread in his chest. Matt hears the ghost of Stick’s voice from a long ago memory, _don’t get attached Matty, don’t let anyone in they’re all expendable._ Matt just can’t bring himself to believe that.

Vladimir brings a rag to Matt’s mouth to clear the bloody mess that resides there. Matt allows his eyes to droop slightly and rests his head on Vladimir’s sturdy shoulder, allowing himself to slowly relax into his hold.

 

Eventually Matt breaks away from Vladimir’s tender hold and moves to chat with a kind shaman named Claire who speaks his mother tongue and is schooling him in the study of Russian language. She is a kind woman with soft edges and a fiery wit and Matt can’t help the platonic affection he feels toward the spicy spiritual healer.

 

Stick walks in a few moments after with a purposeful, deadly step and sinister intent almost tangible in the air from in the firm set of his jaw. He makes a large show of dragging Matt to his feet and pulls out a dull, curved blade lining it up symmetrically against Matt’s jugular effectively silencing everyone in the room.

 

“I want what I payed for, you have done nothing to bring me to my homeland!” Stick states loudly. “He has you. I want the crown he promised me.”

 

Matt processes the black painted words of malice and hatred in Stick’s tone trying to make sense of the betrayal. It was supposed to be _us_ and _we_ , not only _him_. This was all so the two of them could go home.

 

The void of sightlessness in Matt’s eyes has never been so frightening to him before, the promise of death was just a kiss away from reality at this moment and Matt didn’t even have the opportunity to stare at his assailant head on before his demise.

 

The faint whispers of Claire’s gentle voice translating sounded from somewhere near his front right and Matt could only bring himself to continue staring resolutely ahead. “Tell him to give me what I payed for or I am taking Matty, here, back.”

 

Vladimir’s guttural voice resounded and echoed throughout the deafening cloud of delirium that began to pool in Matt’s head.

 

“ _You shall have your golden crown that all man shall tremble to behold.”_

The pressure on his throat subsides before sliding away completely leaving a shallow cut in it’s absence, “That’s all I wanted- to be compensated for my payment.”

 

Matt stands still in his place, not daring to move a muscle. Claire’s soft hands softly touch his shoulder and urge him to sit back down next to her and he does as she wishes numbly. His fingers only twitch slightly when Stick’s bloodcurdling cries fill the air around him.

 

-

 

 _“We will have everything, you and I,”_ Vladimir rumbles softly into Matt’s ear. _“I will give you the world and our people shall reap the benefits of our hard work Matvey.”_

Matt hums in acknowledgment, _“Thank you but I do not want the world, I just want to change it”_

Vladimir strokes Matt’s cheek tenderly, “ _How?”_

_“I want everyone to feel safe. Happy. I want Fisk dead, he feeds off of those around him like a cancer and destroys everything he touches whether it be in the Mainland or across the Black Sea.”_

_“You are child playing at being hero,”_ Vladimir chuffs amusedly.

 

Matt furrows his brow slightly in offense, which Vladimir smooths out softly with a small stroke of his thumb.

 

_“I never said it was a bad thing.”_

Matt shrugs his shoulders slightly and relaxes underneath Vladimir’s touch.

 

“ _The moment you had that thought you got in cage with animals, you should tread lightly on this path you pave.”_

“ _Well I don’t have to worry when I’m with you, do I?”_ Matt jokes lightly.

 

Behind the humor is a loaded question and Matt does not miss how Vladimir does not answer, instead ghosting his lips over Matt’s.

 

He answers finally after a long silence, _“No you don’t, darling.”_

 

Something in the back of Matt’s mind cautiously eats at him and he pushes the feeling down blaming it on paranoia.

 

-

 

The letter Claire reads out to Matt makes his blood run cold. Icy terror crawls up his spine and goose bumps erupt all over his body. When the sudden feeling of claustrophobia hits, it isn’t unsurprising. He is safe _nowhere_. He is aware of Claire’s calming voice and soft hands embracing him hard and he grips her just as tightly.

 

“You will be okay,” she whispers. “I will pack you a bag and ready a horse tonight and you will ride as far as you can for as long as you can.”

 

Matt begins to object, “Claire, not without you-“

 

“You will go without me, and you will not stop until you physically can not ride any longer.” She orders, “ Go on until you run out of food and water and you have blisters, just get as far away as you possibly can.”

 

He swallows thickly, still shaking his head, “No.”

 

Claire cups his face firmly in her hands, “I will be fine, I am good at pretending.” More softly this time, she says, “My only concern right now is that you get out of here in one piece.”

 

Later that night when the moon is high and no one else is present, Matt walks the familiar path behind the tents to his and Claire’s spot a few miles ahead.

 

They hug desperately and speak wet, thankful words of gratitude and love to each other.

 

“May we meet again, Mathew,” Claire says softly.

 

“Be safe.” Matt replies gravely as he settles himself on the saddle of the horse.

 

 

6 months later

 

 

One thing Matt learned from Vladimir is that naivety has no place in the real world, Stick taught Matt that you can’t trust people no matter how long you know them, and the thing that Claire showed Matt is that good people do exist somewhere- they are just rare findings.

 

Matt can’t remember how he got to where he is but he is there. All anything that can ever be felt is pain and different volumes of fear. He’s heard the name of this place be called a lot of different things in different languages but the most memorable one is _The Coliseum._

Matt lives in a constant state of alertness, listening to the frantic pulse of the hearts around him, the light crush of sand below foot and the swish it makes as goes flying up like little clouds.

 

The air around him is hot with the breathing of desperate men and blood. Matt had become accustomed to the surrounding scent with his time with the Russians and doesn’t bother him as much as it would have if he hadn’t been exposed beforehand.

 

He has a mutual camaraderie with the men around him, they are dependable and help one another when they can, but everyone knows once the gate opens, it’s a kill or be killed kind of place. Luke Cage has been here the longest from the almost extraordinary way his skin can endure almost anything- he later told Matt that he just couldn’t feel, it was a skin condition that no one residing in Dorne had ever seen or knew the cause of- but that made him ruthless in battle.

 

Matt enjoyed the larger man’s company, he smelled of sandalwood and exotic berries- a stark contrast to Vladimir’s husky smell of smoke and winter. While Luke was warm, Vladimir was cold, even their personalities contrasted one another’s. Luke was all smooth skin and companionable silence and Vladimir was harsh guttural words and rough flesh, barely any of his skin was left unmarked. Matt felt a vague magnetic attraction to Luke just as he had Vladimir but less dangerous, less of a rush- more manageable.

 

“I almost thought you were gone, for moment there, Murdock.”

 

Matt huffed under his breath, pressing around the tender cut along his chest, “I had it under control, the key is to just listen to the air- movement is telling.”

 

“For a blind guy, you see a whole lot,” Luke muttered.

 

“It’s a talent, I guess,” he replies dryly.

 

“That’s a good thing to have here I suppose.”

 

Matt grunts in reply, sending them into another bout of comfortable silence.

 

Luke’s voice lowers to a faint rumble in his chest, “Say, I think I found a way out.”

 

Matt’s head lifts up slowly, swallowing thickly, “Oh really?” He asks just as low.

 

“It would take some manpower and you’re one of the strongest guys here, save for me.” Matt hears him shift slightly and begins to catch on, feigning disinterest.

 

“And uh- how many other people are you expecting to take with us.” Matt asks before correcting himself, “Well I assume you mean us since you essentially asked for me to help aid in your escape.”

 

“Two others.” Matt nods his head and moves to sit next to Luke, “Where exactly is this ‘way out’ that you are talking about?”

 

“Next to you, a little ways off is a loose stone in the wall.” Matt feels a spark of hope begin to light up in his chest that he quickly tries to maintain. “It can be moved but I need a few others to keep the wall steady while we move the stones.”

 

He turns his unseeing eyes onto Luke, wistfully wishing he could see so that he could observe the other man’s expression, “How do we know what’s behind that wall isn’t just a spectator’s chamber, or just another hallway in the coliseum?”

 

“We don’t.”

 

Matt laughs bitterly, “Why the fuck not, what do we have to lose?”

 

-

 

Thinking about it now, Matt doesn’t really know when he first believed that he would rule Hell’s Kitchen, It was just what everyone told him for as long as he could remember, It was fact. The sky is blue, my name is Matt Murdock and I was born to rule, it is my birthright- but is that what I really want?

 

After Stick died he had no one telling him what he was meant to do, he could live in blissful leisure chatting with Claire and his, _not his anymore_ he reminds himself, husband. Vladimir’s betrayal was a shock- conspiring with Fisk for his death- and quickly demolished the illusion of comfort that it once carried.

 

Living in the coliseum was simple, eat, drink, survive- a mantra that Matt would carry with him for the rest of his life. It made him question the foundation of his being, _did I really want Hell’s Kitchen?_

The answer was no. He wanted a blank slate. He wanted to wipe clean any trace of his old life and with his escape he now has that.

 

Luke and Matt shook hands in farewell, it was firm, and hot, and Matt ignored the pulse of attraction that flared at the touch.

 

He was free. Utterly and completely free, and it was exhilarating. He walked as far as he possibly could and then walked some more until he came across a village.

 

-

 

Foggy was a quirky fellow, but also a generous man. He allowed Matt to stay in his cot as soon as he laid eyes on Matt- blood, blind and all. He laughs like how Matt remembers the sun shining and embodies the feeling of _home_.

 

Matt comes to care for Foggy and everyone in the little village. Karen, Marcy, Miss Cardenas, Ben and his wife- a little community of people with varying personalities that both contrast, and compliment one another’s, and Matt fit into their little world.

 

 _A whole new life_ , something greedy inside of him whispers, _no one knows the things you’ve done, what you’ve heard._ He can allow himself this at least.

 

Matt smiles to himself, listening to Foggy and Karen taking the piss from the other about old embarrassing things each have done. A small part of him wants to be jealous of the time that he hasn’t had with them but he brushes that off instead to relish in the time he has now.

 

His days pass slowly and happily, he lives a mediocre life and it is satisfying yet something is missing. Even with all this happiness something feels sour. He knows what it is but he also knows as soon as he acknowledges it, the more it will bug him- he lets it lie.

 

-

 

“Come on Matt, oh buddy, oh pal,” Foggy jests, “My numero uno, my partner in crime, the wind in my sails-“

 

Matt grins, “I told you Foggy, the answer is no.”

 

“Oh come on! I take you in, give you food, accept you as my own, I’m wounded.”

 

Matt laughs, “Oh really?”

 

“Yes really, that is the last time I help out a blind guy in the middle of nowhere- are all of you this mean?”

 

“I don’t know, you should ask another one when you see them.”

 

“Come on Matt please, just this once,” Foggy pleads.

 

“Do you want me to beg, I’ll beg for you.”

 

“I think you already did that,” Matt jokes.

 

Foggy groans theatrically, puckering his lower lip out in an outrageous caricature of a pout and leaning heavily against Matt’s languid form.

 

“Are you pouting?”

 

“Yes,” He accentuates this with a light cuff on the side of Matt’s head, “And you would do anything I asked if you could see it.”

 

“I highly doubt that,” Matt snickers.

 

“Screw you, of course you would.” Quieter this time he says, “please, oh please, Matt, I’ll do anything.”

 

Matt feigns consideration for a moment before complying, “All right fine, I will be your wingman with Karen, although I don’t know what gave you the impression I know how to charm women.”

 

There is an audible pop of Foggy’s mouth dramatically falling open, “Are you kidding me man, that ‘touch your face thing’ is like catnip for girls! Miss Cardenas swoons when you walk past her in the morning.”

 

Matt smothers a smirk, “Don’t talk about Miss Cardenas that way, she is a sweet old lady.”

 

“But seriously, teach me your ways of love, Sir Murdock, you fiend.”

 

“First lesson, don’t ever say that again,” Matt cringes.

 

“Aye, Aye, captain.”

 

Matt sends Foggy a withering look, “And second lesson, just be yourself.”

 

Foggy groans, “That is literally the worst advice anyone has ever given me- ever.”

 

-

 

Karen cowers behind Matt, his torso shielding the petite girl from the sharp sword pointed towards his throat. He fights back the instinct to swallow and failed, a thin line of blood begins to flow down the line of his neck to stain his cotton shirt.

 

He pushes his arm back to keep Karen shielded behind his back as he begins to slowly back up towards the wall a little ways away behind him. He stares resolutely into the blackness with the steeliest glare he can muster, hoping it reaches the man in front of him.

 

The sword follows him as he paces back, digging in a little more as his back hits Karen. She is whispering a small mantra underneath her breath that Matt is too distracted to translate.

 

The sound of angry gargled words of an uncomfortably familiar tongue from the man in front of him makes his stomach drop. His stomach rolls itself into nervous knots and bile begins to rise in his throat.

 

Footsteps are heard entering the room and there is a low intake of breath, “ _Matvey.”_

 

It’s hard to keep his breath from hitching but he somehow manages, “ _Vladimir,”_ he greets reluctantly.

 

The sword is removed from his throat and clattered to the ground with a loud ‘ _clang!’_

 

Vladimir grips his bicep tight enough to cause bruises and Matt can do nothing but follow as Vladimir drags him away. A part of him feels content at last, but a larger part is screaming in fear of what is to happen next.

  

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not write a second part to this but idk. My tumblr username is sansaasnark but anyways, thank you for reading! :)


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